


like like

by ruruka



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, oh. crossdressing L. im copeing with my life., uhg. blow jobbing.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: there's a gala on friday evening.





	like like

There’s a gala on Friday evening.

“You’re going to have to take the handcuffs off me before the event, anyway,” he’d said on Monday. “You may as well just let Misa go instead. Since you don’t even want to go in the first place”

“You only further my point. Without the handcuffs on you, I’m under even more of an obligation to stay at your side,” he’d been told on Tuesday, and on Wednesday he’d said back, “Then send someone else in _my_ place.”

“But,” Thursday had objected, “that wouldn’t bode well for our investigation. What’s more suspicious, a handsome twenty year old attending a Tokyo gala, or Mogi thrown in among a hundred young socialites?”

On Friday morning, he wakes to the sun, and with one hand pressing his clenched face, the second wrist of his is lifted high for a stretch, and for the first in a tepid length is presented to him without restraint. The full range of motion is admired beneath his eyes that come to blink away lingering blear. His arm reaches, bends, retracts. Propping higher to his elbows, sheets dry to caress, he finds the second side of serendipity gone missing, and he wakes to the sun because there’s no one to poke and prod him at its first lick of a rise.

Light steps against the cold hallway tile in what he’d never expected be such crass underdress, boxers and a warm sleep top, yet he’s gaudy over every inch to walk into the main room and find himself greeted by a knight of suit and tie.

“What do you think of this one?” L says, voice pale against the empty room, never having turned to catch Light’s entrance. He peers now to his back, shoulders padded, slacks ironed to taut curves. Breath rushes through Light’s mouth like cold spearmint.

“I like the black better than the navy, personally,” L goes on, a sigh catering his woes as he twists a lethargic turn to face him. Despite the pristinity of collar to toes, he’s the same mess from the shoulders higher, dark circles and bedhead, a look of utter death on his face as so always. “But Watari insisted I at least try this one. And, well...my own father is a hard man to argue with.”

Light wouldn’t pin L as someone who finds any argument a hard one. But he allows its exeunt, for favor of just the opposite sweeping inward the neat presence donned by namesake. Watari- he’s got a stream of tea flowing by the time Light drops a first glance upon him, platter of breakfast pastries placed beside it and gestured to once their eyes match. In half politeness, half wonder, Light nods his acceptance, walk forward halted by wandering hands. There’s a sharp slap of palm to knuckles, and L retracts with the face of a spraybottled cat.

“Ryuzaki,” Watari says in a firm, lovely voice. “No eating scones in a tuxedo.”

“These scones aren’t wearing tuxedos,” L insists, yet can only call forward the dark of his eyes to Light’s approach.

“You look good, I never imagined you could actually be put together enough to form a real human.” His hands rest to the head of the closest chair. “But...wouldn’t it be more appropriate for you to dress like...I don’t know, my _date?”_

“Huh,” huffs from him, head tilted to rest upon the lift of one finger. It presses his cheek in such a way as to muffle him when he says, “And what’s the problem with two men attending an elegant ballroom event together?”

“Well,” Light is quick to reply, because it’s on the tip of his lip already, because he’ll do whatever it takes to simmer just as much mortification as can come after the last months of wrist clinking metal, “Well, nothing. But it wouldn’t bode well for our investigation for someone to recognize me there and know that you _aren’t_ my girlfriend, and we’re actually undercover detectives who know this whole event is run by Kira supporters.”

Behind him, a halo of sunlight brims, reflects in color made up. L peers a hundred years against him. Watari conceals a chuckle within a clearing of his throat.

“I must agree with the young Yagami,” he chimes. “Being a recognizable presence isn’t a very smart idea.”

The tennis match of them both on his either side twists his head left, right, before he’s settled forward with a thumbnail tucked to the teeth, showing no fever in his rattling eyes that wish to scream out, Light knows. He himself, the repression is difficult just the same- muscles quirk at his either mouth’s corner. Molars chew hard against their pairs.

“So,” murmurs L, lids low. “You’ve decided to overthink things now.”

“I’ll have a gown prepared within the hour,” Watari promises in a nod, carrying himself off toward the back hall exit of the room. Light could just about faint with the pressure implosion of his amusement.

Half a blueberry scone is stuffed in L’s mouth by the time he glances to him again.

Too easy.

“If we’re going to make this believable,” he says, fully dressed Yagami Light, some time later, and it’s Friday midmorning and L’s stripped himself like a mad dog from his suit to don his slipping boxer shorts and skin, slumped before the bathroom mirror the pair of them, staring, eyeing, leering toward the tangle of black hair beneath the arm Light tugs upward over their heads, “then let’s start here.”

“You’re stripping me of all masculinity to fuel your own insatiable ego,” L comments. “It seems almost as if Kira himself has come up with th-”

The roar of clippers switched _on_ drowns him away.

Light thinks, just vaguely, that normal policemen don’t shave each other’s armpits, but he decides thinking too much is what usually gets him wound up around L’s finger, so he settles on blissful ignorance as he watches the clumps of deodorant-stained hair bleed to the sink top porcelain.

“You have this on hand?” is the question come up once he’s propped up on the toilet lid with Light stood before him, flat iron running slow strokes down the hair framing his cheekbones. Steam breathes up overhead.

“It’s Sayu’s,” Light’s quick to dismiss, and combat the holes poked in his explanation with heat pressed against the vulnerable skin of an ear. “Oops, sorry. Make sure you stay still.”

The bathroom door clicks open. L mumbles a delectable groaning. The bathroom door clicks closed.

“Focus on your center of balance,” Light instructs. Hands grip his shoulders as though the last anchor upon Earth, wobbles beginning at the knees and leaving no blanks down to the tight pointed tips of the toes. Silver is a nice color for his neat little feet, Light must admit.

One step dares to press forward. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen L’s eyes wider than the marbles that watch over his steps, left, right, muscles trembling less with each one as understanding ravels either heel.

Easy, easy, yes that’s it. Round two entails the loss of Light’s roller rink wall shoulder frame, placed with his back to the door and L the baby deer on the bathroom’s opposite side.

“Don’t walk like you think you’re gonna fall,” he says. “Walk with confidence, Ryuzaki, I know you have plenty of that. Walk over to me like...like I’m a birthday cake. Strawberry sponge cake.”

“If you were my birthday cake, there’d be no rush. It’s my birthday. I can take as much time as I like.”

“I didn’t say it was _your_ birthday cake,” Light says, and balancing remarkably, L contests, “I have no reason to go to anyone else’s birthday party.”

Fists pool at his hips. Light breathes, because he must, calling forth those hands in an open hold. “I’m the last piece of _your_ birthday cake, on November first, in the fridge, and Matsuda just woke up and he’s heading toward the kitchen.”

L’s shoulders run stiff. With no worry does his first step clack forward, then another, chin high, motions all mighty. No tremors to plague him.

“Hah,” breathes Light’s laugh. “That’s good. You’re really getting the hang of-”

A palm to his face is usually enough to pause his praise. His head is pushed away with a toss of the bathroom door open, and L saunters outward still in perfection of his stride. Light shakes himself into a huff, but follows close behind as a shadow may.

“Ryuzaki-”

“Uh-” Blinks mirror his own from the second side of the hallway. She’s all glam, even at the early- a glance to his watch that proves fallen well past noon -early _ish_ hour, peering down toward them both in wide contact lens blue, mouth puckered to a pop of uncertainty. “Ryuzaki...I didn’t know you had such hairless legs.”

Yes, leave it to Misa to figure out what to say upon catching a man in boxers and three inch heels. Light could almost admire her tenacity. She’s smiling, now, now that she’s peeked over L’s shoulder to spot the third, clipping past the barrier to rush against Light’s unwaiting chest.

“Good morning, beautiful,” she coos. “What are you guys up to? More amazing detective work? Oh- hey! The handcuffs are off! That means we can go on dates now, without any weird pervy interruptions!”

Over her mushing gushing head, Light steals a glance, collecting the hearth of L’s expression beamed toward him. Right, Light understands, he’d thought the same already- anybody of sound mind would know telling their girlfriend that he’s taking the man accusing them both of mass murder ballroom dancing won’t count as the sweetest surprise. No. He nuzzles into a shake of the head, a breath that Misa feels expand beside his heartbeat.

“Misa…” he says, draws her outward to lock their looks. Her hands clasp beneath her chin. Light tightens at the mouth. “...Ryuzaki is secretly a drag queen.”

Heels stumble against the hallway tile, twisting his ankles around themselves yet managing still a claw enough at the wall to keep his steady. Light does not dare melt himself beneath the glare he _knows_ has been born upon his face; rather, his focus falls to Misa, her palms tapping themselves as goes her giddy grin.

“Oh-em-gee!” she beams. “That’s totally cute! Hold on, let me run back to my room for a minute, I have a ton of stuff that can help you- oo, I can do your makeup for you! This is gonna be _so fun!”_

Her twister-whip vanish leaves the two of them alone in the reflective floored hall, Light accepting no glance but that of his own between his feet, keeping himself staid, steady, and he’s sure it’s coming from the moment he spots L’s fingers slip the heels off, because no man can fight properly in stilettos, surely, but he’s just got his hands on Light’s collar when interjection again laps.

“Ryuzaki,” prompts attention down the walls to where Watari stands, one arm folded behind the back, second holding high the coat hanger of a plastic bag’s length.

Perfect calm over his face, L steals one crack of a palm across Light’s cheek before turning to claim the proffered gift.

“Red, huh? That’ll look so pretty on you!”

The bathroom fluorescence pours across his every contour as he sits, perched like a doll on the closed toilet seat, hunched and slumped, desolate behind the eyes. Light watches onward. He almost feels sorry for L. He moves his hand to rest before his mouth, and his sleeve chafes against the raw rim of his wrist, and all sorrow floods away to the tune of Misa’s makeup bag unzipping.

“This is just my personal collection,” she assures, rifling through the pounds of cosmetics. “My makeup artist keeps all the professional stuff. But a girl’s still got to look presentable on her off days, too, y’know?” She hardly catches her breath before she’s bounced up into squirting a light shade of liquid into her fingertips. “Time for primer! Close your eyes.”

L directs a thousand pound curse toward Light’s smirking gag before moving to comply.

It’s a show of sorts, the way Misa moves so intricately step after step after step to doll him up in cakey cosmetics. Light had never thought past lipstick and eyeliner, neither of which he’s caught even a glance of in the first ten minutes of painting. She’s on something she’d called _highlighter-_ which Light had at first thought insane to draw a gaudy yellow like that on someone’s face, but rather had she twisted a white stick over L’s cheekbone points, between the sculpted brows she’d drawn on -when she licks her lips and asks aloud, “Do you have a name picked out? I don’t know a lot of drag queens, or anything, but the ones I’ve met at shoots and stuff always have special names for their lady personas.”

“Lady...personas…” pricks from L’s mouth, tight with the effort to keep his face still as she works. Misa sets the highlighter stick down with a nod, reaching for a palette and brush beside her. The bristles lay toward a natural shade of mahogany, pressing to his upper eyelid as she goes on, “Yeah, you know, _liiike..._ Miss Mimi Delight, or, Lucy Lovecock, or-”

“You know, I’m certain you’re the perfect girl for Light,” he interjects, “I’m just certain of it.”

Nearly does she drop her brush in such a flinch of bliss. “Really, you mean that?!” Glitter gleams in her eyes, beaming a hot bold note as she caters more shadow over top his lids. Between her rustling arms, Light is sick to drink in his broad smirk. An eye for an eye.

“Normally, I only wear wigs if I don’t want a bunch of fans swarming me, like if I’m out for coffee with friends or something.” She paws through a bag now taken his place where he’s leant before the mirror, examining, detesting. “But I brought a few down with me-”

“No wigs,” L says, prodding a finger around the rim of one nostril, reflection perking the same back at him with Light studying him from behind, who furthers, “I already straightened Ryuzaki’s hair earlier.”

“Hmm, yeah…” Misa moves to join the pair in the mirror, lifting manicured fingers up toward a strand of crimped black. “If you don’t want to wear a wig, I think it would a lot cuter at least curled, don’t you? Not that Light didn’t do an _amazing_ job, but usually girls do something a little more fancy with a big ballgown like that. Here, let me try.”

There is no refusal once she’s plugged the flat iron back in, no refusal once its humming against his hair for the second time to wrap around itself now; Misa’s cautious as a ship bottler to unravel the iron from his hair, squeezing one palm around the soft spiral of a perfect curl let out from it. The second side of his face is mimicked, goes on to better fix his bangs and shorter strands, all very lovely and all very tidy once she stands back to admire her work.

“Okay, now, what cup size do you want? I brought enough socks for at least a double D-”

“I don’t think Ryuzaki is the... _stuffing_ type, Misa,” Light presses in, the single string of sorrow he can muster to save him. Even he wouldn’t let it go.. _that_ far. No, he’s a gentleman, one who shakes his head a delicate note. “You should help him into the dress now, though. See your finished creation.”

“Right, good idea,” she purrs, laying the iron to the sink to lift the gown by its sweetheart neckline. Strapless and form fitting. Light has to wonder what Watari had been envisioning with this selection, though he guesses he sees it now, once L has stepped his scrawny legs inside the skirt and had it slipped up to beneath his bald underarms. Misa tugs the zipper up until his ribcage aches, then steps back beside Light to watch him fumble for his heels again.

“Oh, hold on.” She zaps swiftly toward the pile of accessories she’d slung down with her. “Your shoes are silver, right? This’ll go perfect with them- ah, here, Light, could you put it on her, please? I’m not tall enough to do it right.”

Her. Light would love to fall to his knees in gasps of laughter, but rather he’s perfect in accepting the necklace into his either palm, gentle as can be with its fine silver beading that forms a thick curtain frame against L’s clavicle. Watching the both of them in the mirror ahead, Light is breathless, clasps the chain behind his neck and draws back with hands rested upon his broad, bare shoulders.

“Wow…” both he and Misa find themselves hushing in unison, though he chooses silence in the wake of her next enthusiasm. “You’re _sooo_ pretty! If I didn’t know any better, I’d be jealous to see Light talking to you.”

He bites his tongue’s flesh. L stands straighter, if that’s possible of him. Defiance.

And all the sudden, she’s gasping, because, “Oh, my gosh, I completely forgot about false lashes. They’re upstairs, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere- leaving the house without lashes on is a total crime!”

Her steps have skidded her away before either have the chance to fret it.

Light eats up an inhale, holds it, studies L’s every last curve and the natural veneer of his makeup look (Misa, for all her suffocating zeal, does an impressive artistry without making him look too garish at all); they both stand in their silence, in the fluorescence of the bathroom, Light’s hands finding their own space just as they feel the shoulders beneath them expand with life.

“Well,” L murmurs, meeting only the eyes in the mirror. “Go get dressed. You don’t want to look like a fool.”

Blinking. Twitching. Light coughs off a laugh as he slides himself all the way to the bedroom behind the orange sun.

When his shadow again chases him, he’s tucking his cuffs to pristinity into their sleeves, clipping toward the bathroom light only to stop short to where life flounces in the front den. Against the coffee table, Light can see two perched feet and their hairless legs up to the kneecaps, though beyond that L has vanished into the swallow of the skirt. Light smiles a thin notch on his stroll over, reaching to pluck him free by the elbow bones.

“Come on, darling.” His English is perfect only so for the tease. L is on his feet, his wobbly silver feet, and his lips are flat beneath the pop of matte red as they bend around, “Misa’s gone to bed, though she did wish me luck.”

“Luck? In what?” Light sneers, adjusting over again the lapels of his blazer as L responds back again, “In the drag race I’ll be attending tonight. It’s a _very_ tough competition.”

For a breath, Light peers at him, shaking the stupid from his head as he accepts an arm linked through his elbow, and they set forward, just like that.

Right.

He’s halfway certain the hour long drive is brutal in polished oxfords, and he’s all the way certain that L’s rubbed off almost all his eye makeup by the time they’re approaching the lot, certain there’s false lashes stuck to the floor of Watari’s back seat and wrinkles all up the backside of his gown. But they approach, they arrive, and Light is too much a gentleman not to step out and offer the other’s door pulled open. With a hesitancy, one silver shoe greets the asphalt, another, pulled up to standing by Light’s guidance. Only with the lights of the gala hall reflected in his eyes is it at last that L simmers in reluctance, uncertainty, a preference to just this once crown Yagami Light the best in their dispute. Light almost thinks he might, yet once an exhale is hauled from him, L is all the perfect bride to escort him down the aisle toward the valet-tended front entry.

“Ah, hey, Yagami, I didn’t expect I’d see you here.” Just as soon as they’ve stepped inside, where perhaps a hundred others prowl, Light and his flawless charm are spotted by the point of a half drunk flute of champagne, joy in the fancied expression as the two meet centerpoint. Some random kissass from one of his college classes, right. Light smiles like a pro, and the guy goes on, “Oh, huh, weren’t you dating a supermodel last time I knew?”

He watches the stranger peel scrutiny at his date from head to toe, and something in him wishes the shatter that champagne in one crush atop his skull. But he’s civil. He smiles. Again. Bolder.

“Oh, things didn’t work out between Amane and I,” Light brushes off. His gesture next comes to cup L around his cinched waist. “This is my girlfriend...Lucy.”

The man seems to bounce back to vim now, no longer at a loss for his vicarious life and rather intrigued by new fate. “Lucy, ah? Nice to meet you, then, I’m-”  
“Oh, sorry,” Light interjects, “I should mention she doesn’t speak a word of Japanese. Here, let me translate for you.”

The gleam of Light’s mouth slips behind one palm to ruffle L’s curl. “Let’s get out of here as soon as possible,” he whispers, and after a nod, L’s lips are hot against his ear to answer, “Ask him where he got the alcohol first.”

Light smirks as they again become two.

“Well,” he goes on. “She says it’s great to meet you, and that she just saw one of her own friends across the room over there. I’m sure you and I will catch up again later on.” A switch of language, a switch of focus, “Over there, right, Lucy? We can go say hello.”

They wash against the murmuring crowd, a good portion spread throughout the round tables as the rest sway to the classical thrum. A waiter sweeps by them in a balancing act of two silver trays, rested upon them a dozen bubbling glasses that L snaps both hands out to grasp five by their stems, catching the waiter off guard only a half second before he continues onward. Could Light be bothered for embarrassment, his neck would blare scarlet, but rather his best effort is spent in claiming one glass for his own. Champagne dribbles messily down L’s knuckles. He downs them in shots that leave him no dizzied pace. Light could just about admire it.

“Oh, my God, I love your dress,” a woman who, in her own silken lavender gown, perhaps knows what she’s on about, stops L to say in a glance up and down him. Though she’s cultured in her attire, Light can unpack by the scent of her breath that she’s played the same game of drink snatching twice over, and there’s a smudge of brown on her lips’ corner as her date motions to tug her away. “MM-!” she gasps out, lolling halfway over, “Make sure to try the chocolate fountain in the corner, it’s _amaaazing-”_

Glints return to the dark of his irises just as soon as the syllables have trailed. Light wishes to groan. The rest of his evening flashes before his eyes, one of himself slumped at a table with eight empty glasses tipped around him whilst Lucy spends the time elbows deep in Hershey fondue. No different than any normal night with L. Light, this time, does groan.

“Hey,” he says to kill the first sparks. “We should blend into the crowd for now. That’s the only way we’ll really be able to focus and scope this place out.”

“Yes,” L is quick to agree. “I think a good spot to gather our thoughts would be that corner over there-”

“Ryuzaki,” breathes down his neck. Light’s hands do not take no for an answer in the way they reach to claim the other’s, squeezing, _feeling_. “Come here. Let’s...dance.”

Their glances march against one another across the short space they split. L could, in one sense, be taken for a frantic, could in any other be read as the exam administrator behind his hard oak desk. Another suit clad server bustles by them. L takes one hand back to pluck a drink off the nearest tray, sloshing just the slightest before tipping down his throat.

Discarded. Hands freed. Hands connected. Teeth grit.

“Do you think Kira is actually here tonight?” Light is sure to keep his voice compact, simple once L has brought himself closer into their swaying forms. A hand rests to the small of his back. His words reek of carbonation.

“Yes, I do,” he says, locking their eyes together. Light’s handsome face goes disturbed by a scowling. “Don’t start with that. I’m being serious. In a room full of his closest supporters, do you think he’d feel at ease enough to blend in among the crowd?”

They’re quiet a while, a short easy while where Light rests his hands upon the sweet fabric of L’s dress, and L keeps his own steady on the strength of Light’s neck and shoulders. There’s nothing but the music overhead.

“I-”

“Oh, no,” Light cuts in, teeth sinking to the flesh of his lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, go ahead,” nods L. “What is it?”

He tautens his mouth. There’s nothing but the music and the two of them, and, by a further leap of opened lids, the silhouette of a slender, darkened figure chatting beside two other fashionable young adults.

“It’s nothing,” Light murmurs hotly. “I just...saw an ex girlfriend of mine, over there. Takada, remember, the one from To-Oh? I had no idea she was a Kira supporter. How despicable…”

Still he’s peering over the way to her, to the catty little laugh behind a gloved hand he hasn’t been able to hear the prompt for; Light watches, brows turning stern, and were he more adept in the art of humanity, he’d note the lift in temperature on the skin beneath his own, and he’d note the way L has not a once stolen away his gaze.

And hot is that skin, and hot is his tone, and hot is the flavor of the mouth that dares to find his own- one that at first goes unmoving, though a swallow brings him to pucker a faint millisecond at the very same moment they’re fated to part, L dotting his kiss instead to a wrist back, cleansing, whilst the amber of Light’s irises waver with contemptuous honey.

“You… Ryuzaki- you, you can’t just- you…”

“Did you hate it?” L says back, in his face, _there,_ never any space for heat to evaporate between their pressed bodies, “Did you hate it?” L says back, and Light has no reply for him.

By the time they’ve stumbled their way to the closest exit door, Light’s tie is loose around his collar, and his hands have no home of their own outside the weeklong sleepover on L’s chest, and that perfect sculpted lipstick is ruined in smudges shared between their mouths. The exit door- wherever it’s led them, it must be heaven, it _must,_ in the way they’re alone and it’s hardly so hot yet tenfold as so, lights splashing a white glow on their backs, and L had ruffled with bare hands the curls from his head to leave behind a terrible mess he’s so often acclaimed for, contour makeup that could never fix the sharp length of his nose dripped away with idle lines of perspiration, kissing away the three...four...five glasses of champagne and the one Light had never tasted, hands and tongues and forbidden forevers in the missing chafe of metal on the wrists. They’ve been waiting. He’s been craving. Fingers grip white upon Light’s blazer. Lipstick traces the pale of his throat.

“Ryuzaki- _hah,_ L…”

Kisses. Kisses. Kisses.

“If you aren’t careful,” mixes betwixt a pair, “you’ll get us caught.”

Light groans, grinds forward his pelvis like a dirty promenade dancer.

“L- _God,_ I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he huffs, hands clutching the cool of the desolate hallway wall. “I- I can’t take it.”

“You have to have me, don’t you?” husks into his ear, blind and deaf and gone to the sensation of a hand stroking his cock beneath his slack fabric. Light swallows, hard, and as if he’s guided by the strings of destiny alone, nods his head.

A bite nips his throat. “You’re cute.”

Where they’re poised, with L’s back pressed tightly to the white cement of the wall behind them, and Light leant before him- it’s heaven, that’s all, no threats to be found, and just as thrilling or jarring or pitiful as it sounds, Light can feel the stiff length beneath the silk rose of his ballgown, swallowing again in such a bliss he’s paralyzed.

“We- Ryuzaki, we have to stay focused,” he chokes out. “Kira could be right under our noses-”

“Don’t worry about that,” L demands sharply of him, so sharply he hasn’t any idea besides obedience once a hand grips through the combed lengths of his hair to push him downward. The effort is almost a moodkiller, that of ruffling beneath so many skirts to find the bare flesh underneath, but finding it _bare_ in itself and free of any underwear at all is enticing enough a discovery for him to continue. Continue he does all the way to a cock in his throat, mouth sickly sweet around his hard throb, tasting every bit L has to offer. Precum, yes he tastes that, deliriously so, flavor of his everything sending Light through a spiral of arousal. He’s eager in his bobs forward, back, caressing the heat of L’s thighs, feeling every tighter grip in his hair that finds every lick, bob, gag. Light can’t place just exactly where he’s claimed such a talent. But then he’s so caught up in admiring his own skill that he chokes, taken in more than can handle without fault, and L moans at the noise that feeds only his ego, and Light thinks he could stand to learn more. Through experience, perhaps. He runs his tongue up the length of L’s hard, twitching cock. Practice makes perfect.

With a glance up, L’s face proves near a match to his outfit, breathing in weighted strides, moans plush yet soft enough to keep their grotto safe. Light tears his eyes closed, sucking the cock stuffing his mouth like he’s no other will in life, humming against his final retractions before L can no longer stand the luxury and fills Light’s mouth in his gratitude- at least, that’s how Light sees it as he lifting himself to his weakened knees, skirts laid back neat, he himself risen to bring together a kiss. They huff with equal deprivation. The loitering taste of cum in his mouth is certain to pleasure L just the same in every motion of their tongues together. He can’t stand the guy.

“Did you hate it?” L breathes against his shoulder.

Smirking, Light says, “Yes,” and smirking, L cups the ache between his thighs in one palm and says, “I’m sure you did.”

Another kiss, growled, presses to meet them, yet Light bites the scorn of rejection in favor of L collecting his bearings. He wipes the lipstick from his cheek, tugs his neckline back into place, smooths every inch of himself. Light would rather watch grass grow.

“Let’s get back to work,” L motions to him, glancing one long, blackened look over the shoulder toward him. “Afterall, Kira could be right under our noses.”

Tension battles between them all the way to L’s lips finding their way to the tip of Light’s nose, carrying himself away just afterward on steps preened faultless.

Light can only stare long after him, blinking with the sun, before he chases after with the cut of a grin.


End file.
